


The Show Must Go On

by lyllytas



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Depression, Eventual Happy Ending, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Lower Tadfield (Good Omens), M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Recovery, Torture, Trauma, crowley loves kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22887370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyllytas/pseuds/lyllytas
Summary: Crowley has a lot of trauma. And post Apocalypse, it gets worse.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 60





	1. London Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So what did i work on while i was at vocational rehab during breaks? Some good old hurt comfort. None of the comfort in this chapter really, sorry about that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Empty spaces, what are we living for?  
>  Abandoned places, I guess we know the score  
> On and on, does anybody know what we are looking for?  
> Another hero, another mindless crime  
> Behind the curtain, in the pantomime  
> Hold the line, does anybody want to take it anymore? _
> 
> Trigger warnings: graphic torture in this scene

There's a part in Crowley that's never stopped trying. He's always yearning to be good enough, longing for an explanation – some understanding. He talks to her, begging to be heard but is always ignored. He remains the sad little child who has been abandoned. He never gives up. He's always wanted to have his mother's love again, and he doesn't understand why it was taken from him. He doesn't know _why._

It hurts.

It makes him angry, but he's also angry at himself. Why, after all this time does he still care? Why does he still try? She cast him out. She tore away parts of himself and 10,000 of her other children. Most of them know why they Fell. Almost all of them do. But he only has guesses. Probabilities. He tries to change parts of himself every day, unsure of if he wants to live up to the image of a son who disappoints or a child who wants to come home.

There's parts of his soul that ache, that scream out in rage. He doesn't want to believe that part of himself to be his true nature, but maybe his anger was why he Fell? Maybe that part of him is the reason? Maybe he Fell because he's always asked questions, had always been too curious in the face of unfair standards they could never live up too and the desire to just _know_ things. He fell but he begs, _God you created me, why am I wrong? Please tell me how to be right. Please give me another chance. Please love me again. She_ never responds.

<~>

Some nights he curls up in the dark and allows his broken heart to consume him. He lets himself believe his darkest thoughts. He Fell because he is a _failure._ One who consumes and destroys everything he does and who deserves this rejection. His Fall, The Garden, the Antichrist, the Apocalypse. He lets his thoughts run wild, “ _Reasons For Falling: The Remix._ ” It's all speculation. He'll never know, but he'll never stop wondering.

It's easier to joke around, 'V _aguely sauntered downwards_ ', then it is to confront the reality of knowing he'll never get answers he seeks.

He punishes himself with Aziraphale. He's scared that he'll ruin the angel too just by being himself near him, but also unable to spare Aziraphale the pain of The Fall because he's too greedy. He wants to feel the familiar warmth of love, but like a good, obedient creation, Aziraphale has always spurned him. ' _We'_ _re not friends_ '.

<~>

After the Apocalypse, it takes a long time for him to accept that Aziraphale isn't leaving him anymore, that he's not being cut off and abandoned yet again. Crowley thinks maybe, he's starting to heal from all his aches and heartbreak. He'll never get any answers from his creator, but Aziraphale cares, and that's enough for him; it has to be enough.

<~>

So Hell and Heaven both leave them alone. At least for a little while. Crowley is grateful for the break. He gets to spend a few wonderful years with Aziraphale. Everything is perfect. Aziraphale and him are finally getting on the same page. They love each other. It may not be how human relationships work, but they've had 6000 years together.

It takes a while for him, but after a couple of years, his guard drops. He's no longer expecting Hell at every turn, which is why when they come for him, it stings so much worse.

<~>

He's pinned to the ground. Crowley's not sure he wants to know with what. It hurts. He's splayed out like an insect on the ground, his wings outstretched above him. They made a mockery of it. The crucifixion of Crowley. There's burning metal spikes through his wrists pinning them out to the side. He feels the spikes in his feet, in his wings. Oh _someone_ , everything agony. It's like The Fall.

Hastur and Dragoon are there. No crowd this time. No putting on a show. Not after what happened last time. They _want_ to hurt him. And they will find a way.

“Thought you'd like this.” Hastur grins nastily. “I mean, you do so want to be human. May as well punish you like one of them.” He pauses. “Oh, you know, humans, they usually break the legs when they do this.” He strides forward, a sledgehammer in hand. One, two, three strikes. Pulverizing the bones in his legs. Crowley screams in agony. “Now I know they do it so the human will suffocate faster, but seeing as that will ruin our fun, we left you here on the ground.”

Crowley's powers try to fix his legs, _oh_ , that makes the spikes burn worse. Tears trickle out of his eyes, having to actively control his power so the spikes burn less. The pain in his legs is so consuming.

“I'm so pleased those blessed spikes are working. We weren't positive they'd work so well on you, not after last time. It took some creative thinking between all of us. How do you feel knowing you brought Heaven and Hell together again?”

Dragoon slides forward, kneeling down by one of his wings. “Angels have white wings. Us demons, well we burned so we have black wings. You though, I don't think you deserve wings anymore.”

Crowley barely has time to listen to what is being said before they start plucking feathers from his wings. Only a handful at first.

“Oh this is going to take _ages._ Hastur, what do you say you lend me a hand?”

He hands them a gleaming knife. “Oh Crowley, this knife came from Heaven. You won't believe the amount of work that went into finding it. Let's test sharp this thing is. You always have been so fond of your hair. I mean look at it now.” Crowley's been letting his hair grow longer. Not for any specific reason, just because he's been too lazy to cut it. It's about shoulder length now. Reminiscent of how he looked when raising Warlock. Dragoon hacks at it messily, pulling tufts away and letting them fall. “Oh, but that doesn't tell me too much about this knife. Why don't we see how well it cuts through skin?”

They drag the knife across his cheek and down his neck it stings from more than cut flesh alone would before carving something deep into his chest.

“Hm, lets see how well it stabs.”

The blade cuts easily through his skin, burning him and piercing his stomach. Dragoon does it again. A lung this time. The bone crunches. Crowley wants to stay stoic, not give them they show they so clearly want, but it hurts, and he's ashamed of the noises he makes.

Then Dragoon moves.

One of his eyes is plucked from the socket and Dragoon slices it away, holds it out to him and then does the same with the other.

Darkness.

Crowley feels the cool metal of the knife on the base of his wings. “Kind of an awkward angle.” They move up slightly, to where feathers start to sprout.

“...no.” He manages to plead, trying to squirm away but the stakes hold him in place.

Dragoon cuts through flesh, cuts through bone, tearing apart his wing. It _hurts_ , oh it hurts.

He isn't sure if he's crying or screaming anymore, maybe both. Can he cry without his eyes? He doesn't know. _Oh,_ and the pain never ends. His powers want to stem the blood flow and he has to control them not to act. Finally the knife slides free and Dragoon moves on to the other one.

“So, Crawly,” Hastur says. “Hell casts you out. You have the _honor_ of being the first. Falling from Heaven, being cast from Hell, don't you feel special?” Hastur grins, though Crowley can't see it. Something is dumped on his bloody face, and oh, how it stings at the wounds. And it hurts, he screams. He can't hold back his powers forever, and each new ache makes it harder.

Once they're done with him, they leave him slumped in a pile. They dump him out of Hell. Sent to who knows where. The air feels familiar though. The blessed metal stakes are still in his wrists and feet. He can't heal. He can't cry out. Can't see. Can't move and he lays in a pool of his own cooling blood, wishing that he'd pass out, or even discorporate into nothingness. It isn't until hours later when he hears people start to move that someone discovers him. They scream, which draws attention. People are there, and then _Aziraphale_ he hears Aziraphale's voice. He doesn't even know what miracles Aziraphale uses to make everyone forget about seeing him, but Aziraphale cradles his broken form to his chest and carries him into the bookshop.

He takes him upstairs into the little flat and brings him to the bathroom to try and assess the damage. Crowley weakly pushes his wrists out. The burning of the stakes is unbearable now. “Out.” He begs weakly, his lungs and chest screaming. His throat feels mangled. The metal burns so much.

Aziraphale studies his wrists. “This is going to hurt.” He says, and Crowley wants to laugh, he's in so much pain, what is more?

And it does hurt. But he feels such relief when they're finally out. He points weakly to his feet and Aziraphale repeats the process. _Oh_ , once those fucking nails are out, his powers come flooding back. He feels relief wash over him as broken bones is mended, though he feels the holy wounds resisting his powers to heal. He manages to speak clearly again, now that he doesn't need air. “Zira” He's still burning, only now it's from those wounds, and not the nails in him. “Hurts.”

“I know dear, let me help. There's too much blood, let me turn on the shower and clean you up.”

The water patters over him washing away blood. It never stops. He tries to stem the bleeding as much as he can. It doesn't seem to do much. The effort exhausts him Zira is here now. The angel will take care of him. With those stakes out, he finally passes out.

<~>

When Crowley wakes up, he's covered in bandages. His cheek, his eyes, his neck, his chest, his feet, and he can even feel them on the stumps of his wings. He puts what's left of his wings away, and even doing that hurts unspeakably. He cries out, blood spilling out of his mouth he falls back on the bed, grateful for the minuet relief to not be laying on them.

Aziraphale bursts in drawn by his cry.

“Oh Crowley!” He says when he sees the demon.

He feels a wet cloth dabbing at his chin, and Aziraphale mummers to him soothingly.

Crowley can do nothing but cry silently. It hurts so much. He can't think.

“Shh dear boy!” Aziraphale cleans the blood up with the cloth. He checks the time. It's a little early, but not by too much. “I need to change your bandages.”

Crowley's face crumples. He _just_ put his wings away. “Why's It hurt so much?” Crowley can't get comfortable, everything hurts.

“I can't fix the damage of a heavenly blade. Time. It has to heal itself.” Aziraphale explains. “And it looks like they poured holy water on your face. Again. I don't know why it didn't kill you. But it certainly made things worse. I don't have anything that can dull it.

That explains why there's so much pain, at least. He'll focus on the holy water thing later.

“I don't know how long you were laying there in the street for before someone found you, but I'm glad they left you here outside my bookshop.”

“Don't be.” Crowley shakes his head. “Sa warning. For you.” He turns his head on the pillows. The pain. They can't do this to his angel, they just can't. He touches his aching chest and cries out a bit at the thought.

“I know. I’m sorry it hurts darling.”

He reaches out towards Aziraphale. “Angel.”

“I'm right here dear boy.” Aziraphale takes his hand.

“Not you.”

“Pardon?”

“Not you too.”

He squeezes his eye lids closed tighter and grips Aziraphale's hand like his life depends on it. If anyone come after Aziraphale while he's in this state, he can't do anything to protect him. And Heaven won't care.

Aziraphale pets his undamaged cheek. “I promise I'll keep watch. You just rest. Can you sit up for me? It'll probably be easier if you keep your, er, wings out.”

“Laying on em.” He pants, “it hurts.”

“Oh, of course!” Aziraphale miracles him a half meter above the bed. He's just floating there, the blanket draped over him. “This way you can leave them out without anything pressing on them.”

He forces his wings back out. Crowley winces when Aziraphale starts to change the bandages. He feels sick every time he feels Aziraphale peeling off the old bandages and putting new gauze on. He touches Crowley gently. The ointments burn. The gauze itches and pulls. His wounds feel wrong, Aziraphale pets his head, in what is supposed to be soothing and his hair just feels so short and off.

Wetness springs from Crowley's eyes, and he learns that you can indeed cry without eyes. It had been so humiliating. But the thought of them doing something similar to his angel is worse. And then Aziraphale touches his wing stump and he's back there, back in hell with Dragoon's hands on him and Hastur watching and he panics.

“Nononono please stop! Let me go! Dragoon please don't do this!” He flails.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale grabs onto him which only makes him panic worse. Crowley screeches, blood bubbling from his throat as he twists in the air.

“Crowley, you're okay. I'm not going to hurt you. You're here on Earth again. You're safe. You're in my bookshop. I promise you're safe.”

Crowley is bloody and sobbing, his fresh bandages ruined with blood. Aziraphale doesn't know how to fix this.

 _Sleep_ Aziraphale wills to him with as much force as he can manage. Hopefully Crowley will be out for days.

The demon falls limp and Aziraphale meticulously cleans him up the human way. Swapping bloody bandages for clean ones again, wiping the tears and snot off his face. He touches Crowley’s forehead to will peaceful dreams into existence.

And then he puts his head in his hands and cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter. I got stuck a little and decided to post this tonight while I try to think of the right way to word the next bit


	2. London Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> London pt two.
> 
> _  
> Whatever happens, I'll leave it all to chance  
>  Another heartache, another failed romance  
> On and on, does anybody know what we are living for?  
> I guess I'm learning (I'm learning), I must be warmer now  
> I'll soon be turning (turning, turning, turning), 'round the corner now  
> Outside the dawn is breaking  
> But inside in the dark I'm aching to be free _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's still in a bad spot, and it's hard on both of them

The first few weeks are miserable.The blessed cuts take so much longer to heal than either of them are used to. In the past it's always been a quick snap to heal themselves up, or just do the paperwork for a new body. That won't work anymore. Clearly Hell will not be giving Crowley another chance.

Each day his body seems to get a little stronger, his wounds scab over and require less ointments and bandages. He isn't consumed so much with pain that he is able to do small miracles. Aziraphale even manages to convince the demon to try to grow new eyes, though when they come in, they are milky and unseeing. It's less disconcerting to see than empty sockets.

Crowley does figure out that while his eyes are damaged, he can still kind of use his heat vision to sort of 'see'. The Holy Water to his face makes it hard to see things clearly though. The burned skin in his is red and puffy in his human body, but is when Crowley shifts into his serpent form that the damage is clearer. His scaly face looks like it's melting. At the very least, when Crowley is in his shifted form, he doesn't have arms so he can't feel how badly he's been marred.

Aziraphale's heart aches.

It does this a lot lately.

Most of the time Crowley lays miserably while curled in the air above the bed, a blanket draped around him or he moans in his sleep. He has a lot of nightmares, even though Aziraphale tries to stave them off. It's exhausting work using all his power trying to take care of Crowley and ease his pain. Sometimes things will slip through and torment the demon. Sometimes it's not a dream that bothers the demon, it's his thoughts and memories.

<~>

“What's this say?” Crowley asks as he fiddles with the bandages on his chest. There's letters, he thinks. They sting. He can sort of feel them under the gauze but he doesn't have enough energy to try and figure out what they are by touch alone.

Aziraphale hitches his breath. “I'm sorry?

“Under this? What'd they do? I feel something, what is it?” He feels the silence thick between them. Feels Aziraphale hesitate. “Wot's. It. Say?”

“... It's the Enochian symbols for Unwanted.”

Crowley draws back like he'd been punched. He looks defeated and broken. “ _Oh._ ” He curls up on his side fingers itching idly at the bandage on his chest where he's branded with his oldest hurt. He closes his eyes, not wanting to let on just how much more this one little thing hurts him. It is worse than losing his wings and he needs time to deal.

“It's not true.” Aziraphale says to him after a few moments of silence. “You are so very much wanted.” He takes Crowley's shoulders. “I want you here, with me.” He sits on the bed and runs his hands through Crowley’s hair. One of the first things the demon had done was growing out his hair. Long. Probably the longest it had ever been. The angel wants to ask why it was so important that he did this. Shorter hair would be easier to manage on bed rest, but the curls trailed down to the bed; not crushed by any pillows, and feels lovely on his fingers.

“I'm going to go make us some tea, dearest.” He kisses Crowley's forehead.

<~>

Aziraphale puts on a record, Queen, hoping to cheer Crowley up. He'd bought this specifically because it reminded him of all the time they spent together. Then he goes back into the kitchen to get their tea.

The demon bolts from the bed when he hears the music, almost falling when he forgets about hanging in the air and the blanket draped around him.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale says when he hears the stumbling and sets the tea cups he'd been holding down and rushes back to the room.

Crowley tears through the flat looking for the source of the sound. “nonnononono”. His heat vision only really works on big things, like people. He lurches around blindly. The needle scratches when Crowley bumps the table and the redhead fumbles until he can stop the record.

“It's how they communicate.” He's breathing to fast. “They take songs or movies and they make it wrong, steal the voices to use as their own.” He slides down to the floor. “That one's on me. I was trying to get them on board technology, maybe make a phone call or use a radio.” He curls his knees to his chest with a sob. “I didn't ...They do it all wrong. I always do it wrong. The words aren't safe.” He sniffles. He wants nothing more than to hear the familiar songs that he's been stuck with for years, but the knowledge that _they_ might come through Freddy, it ruins the idea.

<~>

One morning when Aziraphale steps out to make their breakfast tea he hears things crashing around the flat, and he's terrified that _they_ have come back, but when he tears back into the room, Crowley is kneeling on the floor – bawling and surrounded by a wave of destruction.

“Crowley?” he ventures carefully.

“What sort of life is this...” Crowley wipes at his face. “...Miserable existence?”

“It's a life that at least you're alive to experience.” Aziraphale flounders. “They tried to kill you!”

“Well maybe I wish they had!”

Aziraphale reels back like he's been slapped in the face. “ **Don't** say that!” He cries out horrified.

Crowley drags his hands through his hair and pulls. “None of this was supposed to happen. We were supposed to get our happy ever after. 6,000 years. I waited patiently, and for what? Look what they've reduced me to. I hate this.” He clenches his hands.

Crowley sighs as his shoulders droop. “What now? Holy Water even didn't kill me. Why? Fuck sake. I'm a demon, I’m made to be punished. But you, you're better than me.”

“ _No._ Crowley, tell me you don't think that.” He picks through the room to reach Crowley and slumps on the floor across from him, trying to get Crowley to relax his grip before he rips his hair out.

“Heaven doesn't have a good track record.” Crowley ignores his protests. “Look at the old testament stuff. What are they going to do to **you**? Those Arch-Angels planned this out with Hell to get me back, what will they do to you? And I can't do anything to protect you from the. I'm not just unwanted. I'm bloody useless.”

“No. You're not!” Aziraphale grips his shoulders firmly. We'll figure this out, we'll make it okay!”

“Okay?! How are you going to make this okay angel?!” Crowley hisses. “You. Can't.”

“Crowley, listen to me,” Aziraphale moves to hold one of Crowley's hands. “You've been through something terrible, _again._ You lived last time. I bet you didn't think you would, but you survived. And then you lived again. And you'll do that this time too.” he brushes his hand under Crowley’s eye to wipe away tears. “I don't know how yet, but we're going to get through everything, together. I promise.”

<~>

Crowley had once told Aziraphale he didn't think angels couldn't do the wrong thing.

That had been a lie. It is still a lie.

Crowley knows this lie first hand; he'd been an angel once. He'd done the wrong thing.

So had his other fallen brothers, sisters, and assorted other beings. Crowley knows angels can do bad things. And fallen angels can and often will do very bad things. Hell has God to thank - It's because of _Her_ that they have so much experience destroying stuff. And they are very good at it. Crowley does what they want him to do. He breaks.

He doesn't talk anymore, not even to argue. He doesn't move not even to breathe. He wills himself into a pseudo death and curses the universe that even _this_ has been taken away from him.

<~>

Time passes.

Hours turn into days.

Days turn into weeks.

Weeks turn into months.

Crowley’s body begins to heals. Scabs turn into scars. Skin grows around the stumps of his wings. The angel keeps trying to engage him in conversation. He tries to get him out of bed, but Crowley keeps sinking further and further into depression and refuses to make any more efforts. ' _Aziraphale should just give up on me already.'_ Crowley thinks. _'Everyone else has.'_

<~>

One evening, Aziraphale slips away downstairs. Dust is collecting on the sheets in the bedroom. Dust is collecting on Crowley. His heart is breaking.

He can't take this, he doesn't know what to do. He needs help.

“Hello Adam.” Aziraphale holds the telephone wearily.

“Hello Mr. Angel.”

“You can call me Aziraphale, everyone does.”

“Mum says it's not polite to leave off the Mr's and the Mrs' when you talk to adults.”

“Politeness is indeed a virtue.” Aziraphale trots out the line and feels so old and tired.

Adam waits.“So then, how can I help you? I mean, if you're calling me, you must want help, though Anathema would probably be able to help you better.”

“I was calling to ask _you_ for a favor.”

“Why **me**?”

“Crowley got hurt bad.” He glances up towards the stairs.

“Sorry. I haven't got those powers anymore.”

“I know that. Crowley and I checked in on you over the last couple years.”

“So you know I'm just a kid, What do you expect me to do? I still have a little power, but I’m not able to do anything big. Sometimes stuff will listen to me a bit, but not always.”

“I'm not asking you to be Adam the Antichrist, I'm asking you to be Adam the child. You and your friends, well, Crowley has always had a soft spot for children. I really hope that will be enough now.” He sighs over the phone.

“You didn't call me just cause I'm a kid. I mean there have to be loads of kids in London.”

“Well, you knowing what we are helps.” He sighs. “I thought about tracking down Warlock, that's the boy we raised who we thought was the antichrist, but I wouldn't be able to begin to explain everything to him. Oh Adam, they did _such_ horrible things to him. I just want him to remember there's still nice things in the world, because I don't think he knows that anymore. I don't know if it'll change anything. He barely speaks and reacts to me now.”

“He may not respond to you guys either, but I'm trying everything I can think of.” He furrows his brows. “I don't want you to be frightened by him if you do decide to come. I know it's a lot to ask of you.” He sighs again. He is so exhausted. “It isn't fair of me to be asking this of a child. To expect this of you. But I think you and your friends are the only ones that can help him now. Please, will you just come for a couple hours to see if it helps?”

“Let me talk to everyone, I’ll see what we can work out. I'll call you in a few days and let you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly, this chapter and the last chapter could have been combined if I'd waited. Hopefully the next chapter will be longer, there's some healing coming! Thanks for reading!


	3. Adam and the Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> welcome to Lower Tadfield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Inside my heart is breaking  
>  My make-up may be flaking  
>  But my smile still stays on _

Aziraphale put the breaks on their relationship a long time ago. It feels too much like he'd be taking advantage right now. If he were to tell Crowley to jump, the poor boy would without even asking how high, that, or he'd be ignored. So instead Aziraphale keeps going slow, and just tries to _show_ Crowley how much he loves him. He holds Crowley, runs his hands through his hair, tells him sweet truths.

He tries to apply the research he's done into how the humans handle such traumatic events to his dear-heart. There are so many things he didn't realize had been building and festering for so long and though he can't fix all those hurts, he does try to help him heal. He keeps trying. He spends a lot of his time in the bedroom. He reads to Crowley a lot. He isn't sure if Crowley is paying any attention, but at least he feels like he's doing something. He is more adamant about changing the sheets and shifting Crowley around. It's the idea.

He won't give up on Crowley, even if Crowley himself has. Nothing the angel does sparks any response.

The mugs of tea or coffee he makes each morning grow cold. He's long since learned the food he brings gets ignored, but he keeps offering it. Crowley is limp in Aziraphale's arms when he gives him his bed baths. He doesn't even speak up when Aziraphale purposefully brushes his curly hair (Something he knows Crowley hates) in an attempt to get him to snap at Aziraphale to NEVER ever brush curly hair, hasn't anything rubbed off on him over the years? He just lays there, doing his best impression of a statue. Aziraphale has tried everything he can think of to get his interest. Nothing works.

Nothing, until the Them.

The Them are in the bookshop trading playful barbs. It had taken quite a bit of discussion and arranging to get everyone to agree, and then their parents to agree, and THEN arranging a ride. Crowley perks up when he hears them, he moves his chin slightly as he listens. It's the most he's moved in weeks. Newton is watching over the children downstairs, so Aziraphale feels okay to be up here checking on Crowley. And instantly he decides that all of that work was worth it.

“Oh, Crowley,” He says, not even caring how rehearsed it sounds. “You'll never guess who has come by for a visit. Why, it's Adam and his friends. You remember, the ones from the Apocalypse? Well not Anathema, do you remember her? Book-girl? She's doing some work over in Tadfield but Newton is here. Pepper, Wensleydale, Brian, and of course Adam, oh, and Dog. Can't forget him.”

“Wouldn't you like to spend some time with them? Maybe I can convince you to get out of bed long enough for me to change the sheets. Wouldn't that be nice? Some fresh clean sheets and blankets? I can set you up in the sitting room. I won't be but hardly a moment, and you know that lot is harmless.”

Crowley doesn't respond, not that Aziraphale expects him to but he does look interested. “Come dear, let's go sit in the sitting room. You can visit with everyone there.” _Not see_. Aziraphale has been careful not to drop the word “see”. Crowley is still tense about his newly grown eyes being blind. Aziraphale walks on eggshells around his friend, scared to hurt him again. He picks Crowley up and moves him to one of the chairs in the sitting room. Crowley doesn't shift in his arms.

Aziraphale drapes warm blankets around him and then slides on the familiar pair of shades he knows Crowley would prefer to be seen in. The glasses do cover the worst of the burns. He still has splotches of angry red peeking out the sides, top and bottom, but for the most part, he looks like himself. He has the scar on his cheek, but most of the scars are covered by Aziraphale's soft old jumper that he's wearing.

“Just a moment dearest, I'm going to put the kettle on and invite our guests up!”

He doesn't move in the chair. Not until the children (ages 13-14 now) are in the room chattering around him. The Them argue over biscuits and tea. They eat quite a lot. Crowley doesn't eat at all, nor touch his drink.

Aziraphale asks them questions and lets them tell long rambling stories since Crowley seems to be unfurling in their presence like a dried flower that's soaking in hot water. Sometimes, Crowley even seems like he is going to say something. He never does though. But he looks more like himself than he has in months. He even takes a few breaths. It's encouraging.

<~>

Crowley's reaction is enough for Aziraphale to decide, in a heartbeat, that they're going to Tadfield. He's long since moved the plants over to his flat, hoping to get some reaction from Crowley. (He made sure to talk to them extra nice when he knew Crowley could hear, but the demon didn't seem care.) Aziraphale arranges for someone to come by and water the plants then shutters up the bookshop for a long vacation. The Bentley goes into storage, along with the rest of the contents from Crowley's flat. He rents a cottage and ships some of their belongings to it.

Crowley is withdrawn during this whole process as usual. Some days he meekly attempts to do what he's told, other days he downright ignores everything. He's so unlike his old self. It's heartbreaking. It's like he knows that they're doing something, but he doesn't care about what or where they are going, nor why.

Aziraphale makes sure to ask Anathema to put as many protective measures around their rented cottage as she can think of. Once everything has been arranged, Newton and Anathema make the drive to come pick them up one weekend.

<~>

Anathema and Newt upon Aziraphale's request (to hopefully make things easier for Crowley), warn the villagers about the 'terrible attack' that left one of the newest residents of their village has recently been scarred, blinded, and disfigured; though, they never tell them who did it or why. A lot of people upon meeting the Aziraphale and Crowley privately assume it had something to do with, you know, them being them, which was true, though not for the reasons they suspected. (No one thinks they are an angel and a demon, but they do think they are very, very Gay.) Most of them say something along the lines of 'what is the world coming to?' and assure them that nothing like that will ever happen here in Lower Tadfield.

No one in the village brings things up around him; neither his condition or his quiet, withdrawn nature. They are _kind_ to him in a way that makes Aziraphale think they're just being kind because they want to be nice to Aziraphale, but soon he learns that it's the demon's own quirks that draw people to him. Several of the shop owners soon decided to adopt Crowley and will step in whenever Aziraphale isn't by his side to help out.

<~>

It's the early days here at Tadfield, and Aziraphale works to get Crowley out of the cottage more. It's been maybe two months, if that can still be considered 'early days'. It had taken six whole week just to get Crowley to venture out of the bedroom. If anything, it's the early days of introducing Crowley to the village. Most folks know do Aziraphale at this point and he's pretty familiar with the layout of the place.

There's a picnic spot up ahead which should be a nice spot to take a break and rest their feet. There's a playground across the street from it and a bit further down is the school. Apparently the whole village uses this school, though Aziraphale only has a vague idea of what kinds of schools human children need. Certainly London has a lot of schools, so it seems quite intense that there's only one, but he's assured that the small number of children here mean that it's quite adequate enough.

Pepper's mom Clover Moonchild is at the playground. Aziraphale recognizes her. She looks tired out; she does has three children, a 13 year old (Pepper Moonchild), a 7 year old (Sequoia Moonchild), and a 6 month old (Rainbow Moonchild). Rainbow is crying (Aziraphale can hear it from across the street), and she is also watching a small gaggle of 5-6 year olds that are screaming while Sequoia plays with them. Pepper is most likely with the Them.

He guides Crowley across the street and introduces her to him, though the demon just stands there. Aziraphale holds onto the white cane he got to make things easier for Crowley. He doesn't put much effort into learning to use it, but Aziraphale always brings it just in case Crowley wants to give it a go now.

She tries to make polite conversation with them as her attention is torn between the three tasks.

It's when she's paying attention to sorting out a fuss from the kids on the playground that Crowley quickly kneels down by the baby carrier and picks her up from it. He carefully supports her neck as he lifts her up. Quite frankly, he'd forgotten how fast the demon could move when he chose to.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale says to him, part of him in awe, and another part of him torn because he knows that Clover is fiercely protective of her youngest.

“Shh, Shh, shh.” Crowley ignores him and bounces the baby against his chest. “I know, you're cranky.” He mummers to her quietly. “Everyone is screaming and you're just trying to sleep. But what do you say we give your mum a break?” He pats her back. “She's just as tired as you and she's got all these kiddos to keep an eye on. Hasn't all this crying made you tired little one? Wouldn't you like to take a nap for a bit? I think you'll be able to sleep through all the noise now. Just close your eyes and just rest.”

Crowley smiles softly as the baby finally does settle down in his arms.

“That's quite a skill.” Clover stares in admiration. “She's been so fussy all morning, even fussier than normal. I think this is the first time she stopped crying all day!”

“Her mouth hurts.” Crowley says quietly without putting her down. “She's teething.”

“Yes! How'd you know?”

“Crowley used to be a nanny.” Aziraphale explains to her. “But he's always been great with children, haven't you dear?”

Crowley holds Rainbow for three more hours, helping her sleep until Clover declares it's time for Sequoia and all her friends to go home. He almost seems reluctant to set her down, and once they leave, he falls back into his quietness.

But for a few hours, Crowley had been _there_ again. Aziraphale had seen it.

<~>

The Them let their younger siblings hang out nearby and Crowley delights in this. Every single day he gets more like his old self. The little kids aren't scared of his scarred face nor his broody persona. They ask Crowley and Aziraphale random questions, they ask them for stories, they ask whatever is on their minds. Even if Crowley isn't particularly talkative that day, they talk about their dreams, their imaginary friends, or even the fat toad they found while playing in the woods.

They don't give up.

Kids love to talk, and more importantly, they love being _listened_ to. And Crowley listens to them. He makes them feel Important. Sadly, Aziraphale is not very patient around children. He _tries._ But he's much better at dealing with books then with humans, and even worse with young humans. It's why he volunteers at the library doing restorations. It's familiar and he's hopeful that the children will give him a break for a little while, but they follow them to the library and keep talking.

Every 'why, why, why?' eventually makes Aziraphale want to snap, but Crowley revels in their questions. He gives serious answers that the younger kids take in earnest and the older kids think are silly. The Them knows they _are_ indeed true answers. Crowley has never lied to the Them, and he will always answer their questions as best as he can. He never once looses his patience with any of the children. He loves when they are as curious for knowledge as he had once been.

<~>

Crowley _always_ listens seriously to each secret he's let in on. Even the Them and their kid siblings are spared from the fits of temper and irritation that have started to crop up now that Crowley is less disconnected from himself and his emotions.

Crowley always tries very hard not to scare the kids whenever he can, though sometimes some of them or the older up humans are witness to him on a less than stellar day. Folks aren't too frightened or offended. Everyone knows how recently and traumatically he'd been hurt. And Clover's story isn't unique. Others have similar tales of this quiet fellow who steps in to give parents a break and who seems to work miracles around small children, getting them to sleep or stop crying.

_< ~>_

Some days are better than others. Some days Crowley wakes up quiet and withdrawn, other days he wakes up in rage and anger. Then there are days like today.

“Aziraphale!” The angel's lap is suddenly filled with sobbing demon and his book falls to the wayside. “I couldn't find you!”

“I'm right here love.” Aziraphale wraps his arms around Crowley and tries to make sense of things. It was the middle of the day, and he had been in this chair for the last four hours. Crowley had breakfast with him. What did he mean?

“I was dreaming.” Crowley blubbers into his chest. “Everything was on fire so my heat vision was even more useless than normal, and I kept calling for you, and trying to find you, but ... I couldn't ... I couldn't find you Angel.”

“It's a nightmare of a memory.” He pats Crowley's head. “I'm here now. I found a way back to you, remember my dear? I'll always find a way back.” He tries not to read too much into the fact that Crowley rarely has nightmares these days about the bad things he's been through but often has terrible nightmares about bad things happening to Aziraphale.

“The cottage was burning.” Crowley holds onto him tighter.

“It won't. Not even Hellfire will work on it. That was something I worked with Anathema to make sure of. This is the most flame resistant house in the whole village. And Anathema and I will keep working until everywhere around here is safe.”

Crowley sobs. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

<~>

It's a process. But slowly _,_ Crowley comes back alive in Tadfield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this helps make things better. Pepper's family is my favorite.


	4. Adventures in Tadfield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a softer chapter. Because we deserve it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _  
> Ooh, I'll top the bill, I'll overkill  
>  I have to find the will to carry on  
> On with the show, on with the show  
> _

Crowley likes it when they go to the park. He knows they must look odd, two grown men with no children hanging around the park or the playground, but these are some of his favorite places in Tadfield. Sometimes he'll accompany Aziraphale to his volunteer work, especially on story days. Aziraphale will go and do the things he needs to do for the library and leave Crowley in the room with all the children, most of whom are familiar with him by now. Other times Crowley will go to the charity shop or one of the other clothing stores and spend hours just running his hands over the different textures of the cloths

<~>

Another surprising thing to Aziraphale is that Crowley is _good_ with animals. It shouldn't be surprising, but it is. He'd always thought that animals could sense demonic nature, and he'd never ever seen Crowley keep a pet. But, they love him. The friendly ones will come up to him to be petted. The skittish ones will eventually come around when Crowley makes no effort to bother them. They trust him. Even the most grumpy, savage creatures will eventually seek him out and curl on his lap. The animals trust Crowley, just like the townspeople do.

It makes Aziraphale happy.

<~>

Some days Anathema and Newton stop by their rented cottage. Anathema delights in all the occult and ethereal that Aziraphale shows her. She integrates all of it into her work, and is probably the most knowledgeable occultist on the entire Earth. The two of them often put their heads together over old books and scrolls to work out the difficulties that protecting the themselves, Tadfield, and the Humanity.

Newton tries to make small talk with Crowley. He isn't always successful. With anyone out of short trousers it is hit or miss if they'd be able to draw him out of his shell. He is getting better at it though. Crowley responds to him more.

<~>

_It's been maybe four months since they rented the cottage. Aziraphale had had to convince the owners that they wanted to rent to them for the long term. Of course, he payed them more for the trouble._

Crowley is doing so well here, he doesn't want to break him again by leaving this.

<~>

It's late one afternoon, and Aziraphale sets down his book in what he can tell is distaste. The angel has been fidgety all day.

“Whot's it? Something is bothering you. Come on angel, spill.”

“I was dealing with the children.” Aziraphale starts.

“Hm? Not your favorite, I know. You like the idea of children. Tiny little babies and stuff. But the reality of them is something you prefer in small doses. 'S why I was the nanny and you were the gardener with Warlock.”

“Right. Well... Pepper has convinced the rest of them that they really ought to learn to defend themselves properly.”

“Makes sense, I guess." Crowley stretches lazily in his chair. "Humans are rather breakable. And you come into this how?”

“Well they want _me_ to teach them.”

Several emotions pass over Crowley's face. “No.”

“They want me to teach them how to fight off... supernatural things.”

“Out of the question. _No!”_

“That's what I said. But they're being quite persistent about it. I caught them in the woods running some mock drills, although “mockery” sure fits better. _Oh_ their form.”

“No. _Absolutely_ not.” Crowley slams his fist down on the table. “No child soldiers. They're just kids.”

“They are just kids. And with us being on high alert, just being near them increases the chances that they'll get the attention of Upstairs or Downstairs. They should at least have the tools to keep themselves alive for long enough for one of us to deal with the problem.”

Crowley slumps down unhappily. “You mean you.”

“I didn't say that dear.”

“You're right, you didn't. You're too polite." Crowley draws himself inwards. "I know I can't. Not anymore. Not really.” He sighs. “Fine. Teach them. But make sure you stress to them that their main goal is to be staying alive, not picking a fights. Teach them how to be responsible. But don't teach them to be heroes. They're children for fuck's sake!”

<~>

“I want to try something.” Adam says to Crowley out of the blue one day. “Stay right there.” But Adam doesn't leave the room or dig through his bag. Crowley 'sees' him lift his arms up. The air fills with traces of his power. Adam is getting better at calling these remnants of his powers now that Aziraphale and Crowley are helping him learn.

Adam sits down dejected after a moment.

“What did you do?” Crowley asks, scenting the air to see what changed. He doesn't smell anything in particular.

“Nothing.” He says miserably

“Oh. What were you trying to do?”

“I was trying to fix your eyes.”

Crowley blinks a few times and then removes his shades, folding them up and turns back to where he feels Adam. “Hey kiddo. I'm blind cause of a holy weapon. Kind of your biggest weak-spot. 'S why neither of us have even brought it up. It'd be just setting you up for failure.”

“But it's not fair!” Adam huffs.

“No it's not. Sometimes unfair stuff happens.” Crowley says comfortingly. “Believe me, I know that pretty well first hand. But just because something unfair happens, doesn't mean it is the end of the world. You and everyone here in this village reminded me of that, okay? And you're all doing marvelous at that. I fell into a pretty dark place. But I’m clawing my way out of it. I enjoy living here. I like all of it. I love every single opportunity that I have now that I would have missed out on if I'd kept my sight and stayed in London. So thank you for trying, but you've already done more than enough. You don't have to fix my eyes.”

“I don't understand.”

“Everything is _so_ different now. I really enjoy this whole slower-paced retired sort of life. I never thought I would. I was always fast moving. Being forced off that track, it was hard at first. I didn't think I'd ever be happy again. I was downright miserable for months and months." He sighs. "But Aziraphale stayed by my side for all of it. We spent 6,000 years pretending we were enemies. Now we live in a cottage together and it's wonderful.”

“Before all there was to life was flashy things, wine and loud music." He waves his hands around. "All of those things? They fell to the wayside. Now I spend so much more time with people. People who are _happy_ I’m here. Aziraphale, you kids, the people here in Tadfield and their pets. And Aziraphale is thrilled to bits that I'm no longer being 'a big scary demon' to all of my plants and am instead caring for them properly.”

“Would I be happy to be able to see again? Of course. But I’m also happy just sitting here and talking with you and your friends. You don't have to change anything. You just keep being you. You're doing spectacular at it.”

<~>  
“You're a demon, right?” Pepper says to him one afternoon. They're at her house after school. Really Pepper could have babysat her younger sisters alone just fine, but their mom has a soft spot for Crowley and likes to help him feel useful.

“I suppose so.” Crowley answers easily. “At least I was the last time I checked.”

“So, were an angel once then?”

And for a moment Crowley looks sad before he answers her. “I was.”

“Why would you give that up?”

Crowley shrugs. “Sometimes you make the wrong choice and you have to live with it.” He looks at nothing in particular. “And sometimes the “right choice” isn't so clear.”

“Sometimes the “Right side” is full a bunch of pricks.”

“Oy, language.”

“Oh, a demon chastising me for being bad? That's rich. You think they're pricks too, I've heard you talk. Aziraphale, he doesn't talk about Heaven much, but I can read in-between the lines.”

“Really now?”

“He always looks so shocked whenever anyone touches him. I don't suppose that "upstairs" is fond of hugs.”

“No, they rather aren't.”

“So maybe you should hug him more.” She suggests.

He scowls at her exaggeratedly. “Are you implying that I don't hug my angel enough?”

“I'm not implying anything. I'm fourteen.”

Crowley adjusts his grip on Pepper's youngest sister. “What you are, is on diaper duty.”

“What? No.”

Crowley smirks. “Yes, and she needs changing. Go be a good sister.”

Pepper rolls her eyes. “You're the sitter.”

“Yes, and the sitter says to go change your sister's diaper.”

“Ugh, fine.” She picks up her sister. “Mr. Grumpy is just getting huffy cause I'm talking about his angel, isn't he?” She says as she carries her over to the changing table. “How does a little thing like you make such a mess?” She rolls her eyes. “Really, I helped stop the world ending and I'm learning to fight from an angel, and here I am, cleaning up poo.” She leans over her sister. “Those boys would be lost if not for us.” She says conspiratorially.

“What are you talking about over there?” Crowley perks up. “I heard you whispering. She's only a year old, she can hardly understand you.”

“Oh please. Don't you know how people work by now?” She finished her work and set her sister on a blanket on the floor with some soft blocks. “People talk to babies. It's how they learn.”

“And whispering does what?”

“Lets us talk.” She says plainly. “Grown ups don't need to know _everything._ ”

“You sound like you're rolling your eyes. Are you rolling your eyes at me?” Crowley playfully scowls again. “Don't you have homework to do or something?”

“You just want me to read from my history book again.”

“Well, they just get so much wrong! And it's so white and boring.”

“History _is_ much more fun when you tell it.” She agrees.

“I lived through it Moonchild, at least, the bits I paid attention to. Aziraphale no doubt could regale you with tales about the food if you asked.”

“Well, he _does_ talk about food a lot.” She waves one of the toys in front of her youngest sister. “And _you.”_

“Me? What could he does have to say about _me?”_

“Oh, quite a bit. You two have really known each other for 6,000 years?”

“Yes, though we hardly saw each other much. We're kind of in each others pockets now.”

“You two did tell Heaven and Hell to bug off.”

“We **did.”**

“Are you going to _marry_ him?”

“Marry?” Crowley splutters. “Where's this coming from?”

“Well you two live together. And you've known each other for 6,000 years. Why are you dragging your feet? Mum says you and Mr. Fell are sweet.”

“She doesn't know everything...” Crowley protests.

“Well _I_ do. And anyone can see how much you two clearly love each other. _Saps_.”

“Can we please talk about something different?” Crowley begs her. “How's that whole 'defense squad' of yours coming?”

“Please. I took down War with no experience. And Adam took down Satan. If Hell wants to try something, they can bring it on. Aziraphale might be a terrible teacher, but he's good with a sword, and I'm a good learner.” She crosses her arms. “I've been doing karate and stuff for a year now. I'm almost 15. And I've got two sisters to protect now. Wensleydale and Brian have been doing karate with me, though not as well. And Adam's sort of got his powers. We're fine.”

“I wasn't too keen on the idea of training you guys how to fight.” He sighs. “You are children. You shouldn't have to worry about the forces of Heaven, Hell, and Earth. But since you all are so amendment about it, and me being pretty useless, I'm glad you guys can at least learn how to protect yourselves. But hell does _NOT_ need to 'bring it on.' Hope that Hell stays very far away. We don't expect you to fight them! Let us adults handle this.”

“How'd you ever convince my mum to leave you in charge anyways? I though she was _Never_ going to let anyone around the baby. It's been months now though, and you're always here.”

“I'm charming.” He laughs like he is telling a joke. “I merely showed her about having previous experience with child raising. I know you're doing most of the heavy lifting Pepper, but thanks for letting me hang around.”

“Crowley the nanny. Tutor, corrector of history books. You know, my creative writing teacher quite likes the story you told the other day”

“That was just for you guys!”

“It got mixed in with some other stuff I wrote.” She tilts her head. “You could probably write books. If you wanted. They've got computer programs and stuff for blind people.”

“I'd never live it down.”

“Oh, Aziraphale is having the time of his life at the library. Surely he'd love to have something new to put on the shelves.”

“Well it's not going to be a book of my own writing.”

Pepper frowns. “You know, Aziraphale is a _bit_ daft. You're a bit daft too.”

Crowley raises his eyebrow. “How so? You humans are a bit daft in my eyes. Or was that supposed to be an insult. I'm a demon, you've _got_ to do better.”

She scoffs. “I learn because I _want_ to. Aziraphale really is bollocks at teaching. Has he ever been around children? He has no idea what to do with us.”

“Heaven didn't have much children.”

“And Hell did?” she picks up one of the soft toys and smirks when he doesn't respond. “Didn't think so. **Daft.** A demon who likes children and an Angel who has no clue what to do with them.”

They sit there in silence for a while.

“So you really think Aziraphale and I should get married?” Crowley asks.

“Again, six **thousand** years? Uh hello? And he dotes on you. Everyone says it.”

“But marriage is a _human_ thing.”

“Well, the two of you _have_ been pretending to be human since the beginning of humanity. Do angels have marriage?”

“Er. Not really. Not supposed to put anyone before Her.”

“Do demons?”

“Kind of. It's pretty different. Demon's don't tend to get the whole love concept.”

“But you _do_. So you should marry him like a human.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“Because it is.” She puts her hand on he hips “besides if you two are gonna knock boots, you may as well make an honest man out of him.'

“Pep!” he says scandalized.

“That's what the biddies around town say when they think I'm not listening. I don't really care who you shag. But Aziraphale would probably like a ring." Her face lights up. "Oh! We could help you pick a nice one out!”

“If you never talk to me again about shagging, I’ll think about it.”

“Whatever you say. But really, do think about it. I’m going to go do my homework now, okay?” She skips out of the room.

Crowley wanders over to Rainbow in the playpen.

“A fourteen year old thinks I'm odd.” He says, picking up the baby, holding her close. “You don't think I'm odd, do you?”

She coos at him, wrapping her hand around his arm.

“And she thinks I should marry Aziraphale. Are the two of us really to that point? Is it too soon? What if he isn't into human things like that.” He adjusts her in his arms.

“You're not contributing much to this conversation here Rain. Ya gotta give me something to work with.” He boops her nose with a finger. “Now then, your sisters are both busy doing schoolwork, and you need a nap if you're not going to give me any relationship advice. Your mum will be _so_ very displeased if you don't go to sleep today. Why don't you sleep on it and get back to me.”

She babbles back at him.

“Nope. You'll get all cranky. You have to take a nap. Come on, it's sleepy time. To bed we go”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having way too much fun writing Adam, the Them and the Moonchild family.
> 
> my left shift button is still broken, so please let me know if you catch something I missed! :D Thanks for reading!


End file.
